


Game Over. Play Again?

by xKeshire



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Action & Romance, Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, Love Triangles, M/M, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Revelations, Sadstuck, Slow Build, Time Paradoxes, like oh shoot ive been in love with my best friend this entire time, more TBD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-10 01:43:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2006262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xKeshire/pseuds/xKeshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU where after the game, instead of placing the kids together in their appropriate timeline, the game screws up and ends up mixing all the kids in different timelines. At first, the game attempts to reorder the mess, but with simply too many alternate timelines, it decides to forgo its original plan and simply wipe the kids from existence.</p><p>Not to mention John's a damsel in distress with Daves fighting over him:3</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He is your best bro ever. The BESTEST ever, that you don’t even care you sound like a preschool kid. Let the grammar police run around enforcing their laws for all you care. But you two were like Batman and Robin, Mario and Luigi, Rainbow Dash and Applejack (dammit Bro), and like apples and . . . bananas? Whatever, it works.

One day, when you first met John, you couldn’t view him at all as a potential best bro. 

Your friendship was rather unsuspecting. The moment you met, the trap of friendship probably had already sprung, but you couldn’t tell until you were too entwined in a web of blinding toothy smiles and playful blue eyes to back out. It was too effortless, too easy, and way too. . .random.   
You had way too many differences, even just based on outside appearances. Rave- black hair to bleached blonde. Olive tan skin to snow-white pale and freckled skin. Luminescent blue eyes to dark carmine-red eyes. Short to tall. Ok, maybe that last one was skewed. He was a couple inches shorter than you, but hey, you still had to shift your gaze down to meet his. 

You truly wouldn’t even have kept correspondence if it wasn’t for his overly-friendly personality. He practically shoved his Pesterchum username in your face after you first met and made an effort to talk to you every day. Then days passed to weeks. Weeks to months. Months to years. Next thing you know, one day you are the best bros ever, and one day you move into the same college as roommates. 

Every day forward was bliss.

The apartment you two shared wasn’t huge or anything, but it was sufficient for your needs. A kitchen, bathroom, living room, and two bedrooms. It was comfortable. It was home. 

You two made the best of roommates. You can’t imagine anyone else being able to tolerate your dead-things-in-a-jar collection or cool kid act which some may interpret as indifference or snobbishness, not to mention John’s ebullient, sometimes overwhelming, optimism and terrible taste in movies. You would put up with his shitty Nic Cage movies while you snuggled together on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and Doritos, while he would graciously tolerate your ramblings and puns with playful retorts of his own. He would even expend his prankster gambit on you while you would just roll your eyes and play your god-given task as the cool kid, but then when he’d least expect it, you would launch a surprise tickle attack. You wouldn’t relent until either you were both panting and out of breath or he managed to wriggle out of your grasp like the slippery ass that he is and abscond to his room.

\---------------------------------------

One day, he came home looking as if he had aged ten years while he was out. 

First thing you noticed was the clouded look to his typically vibrant blue eyes. They pierced less intensely, like the pale baby blue of the sky viewed through tinted windows. His smile quirked too far to the left as he tried to assure absolutely nothing was wrong, yet it doesn't reach his eyes. His hair was even more unruly than normal, puff levels reaching an extreme high. Every consequent day after that, he kept up that appearance. He would always fidget with those tan slender hands of his constantly either drumming the table to a tune you did not know or fiddling with the ends of his clothes and hair. He also began to address you by your name more often, but every time he did, it sounded like a question.

\---------------------------------------

One day, he fell sick.

You never noticed, too distracted by your classwork, side job, and his little idiosyncrasies to notice his quickly deteriorating condition. You had thought it would be a passing phase. Godammit, he was John Egbert. THE EGDERP. The king of pranks. The golden standard of the happy-go-lucky mantra, and the ever-present stalwart who you could always rely on. Whatever funk he had ever got in before always passed in a day with a shitty movie and a tub of ice cream. Fuck it, why couldn't you have been more compassionate, a better friend. It just wasn’t programmed in your genes, no matter how much you had changed after meeting him. Since you were raised in a one-parent household under the aloof care of your bro, you never had to deal with feelings. You never had feelings jams, never had to comfort him as he, just like you, was constantly upholding the icy facade of his. Only after constant wearing down with late-night conversations over Pesterchum, John managed to get you to drop your façade around him. He dragged you by the arm out of your secluded little corner, previously only ever reached by your bro and sis. He had wriggled his way into your life, your heart, and never seemed like he was going to leave. He made you dependent on him as your bridge to the outside world. 

Consequently, and quite frankly, you were too scared, too unsure of what to do when the bubbly and perpetually happy constant in your life broke. It was incomprehensible, seemingly impossible. Yet, despite it all, he broke like a fragile porcelain doll. Because you were a fucked up friend, he was in a hospital, his gaunt and pallid body absorbed by the stark white sheets of the hospital bed. If not for the monotonous beeps of the machine, you would have never thought he was still alive. He looked as if he was lying in a coffin, surrounded by white lilies. His pale skeletal hands are folded and laced together on his stomach; however, even in his sleep his facial features are pinched and strained. You couldn’t bear to see such an image, so you had made an effort to visit only after he woke up. You tried to run away from that image, but sooner than you could have imagined, it became reality. 

\---------------------------------------

One day, he passed away.

It wasn't even quick and painless. For you, it was drawn out to painful lengths, like ripping off a bandage one tug at a time or like letting a machine run and forgetting to turn it off until it dies all on its own after its battery runs out. He deteriorated day after day and all you could do was watch. He, who used to be well built with wiry muscles filling out his slender frame, was now he was a pile of bones and yellowing skin, a far cry from the strong man he once was. 

His months in the hospital were wrought with moments of pure hysteria, paranoia, and nightmares. His words were reduced to incoherent babblings (Rose, Jade, Karkat, Vriska, Casey, etc.) , foreign words and names, and he pushed you away. That was what stung the most. Not even the lashes and scratches from his fits. Not the numerous black and blues you acquired when trying to subdue him. He couldn't recognize you. Or wouldn't. Whenever he saw you, he would reach a hand up as if to caress your face, but he'd suddenly pull away saying you weren't you. You weren't right. You didn't exactly know what he meant, but you couldn't help but agree. You weren't you. You were just a fuck-up of a friend who didn't even deserve that title. What happened to being the friend who would always be at the others beck and call doing whatever they could to help the other? You never deserved him. Hell, you didn't even deserve the times your name was uttered through those chapped lips of his. It was painful. It hurt.

Every day was hell.

\---------------------------------------

One day, you arranged his funeral somberly with his father. 

Just like how you saw him in the hospital, his hands were folded neatly on top of his suited stomach. He donning a smart black suit which, had he been at his physical peak, would have been much too tight. A matching dark navy blue tie was tied around his neck. You choke. It was perfectly chosen. His blue tie would have accented his eyes making them pop even more. For the rest of him, he remained untouched and unruly as ever. Neither you nor his dad could bear to tame his hair. It just wouldn’t have been right. His skin remained untouched by makeup, and all around him were strewn white lilies and blue carnations. 

The funeral passed by in a blur. You couldn’t focus. You could barely even comprehend that your best friend was dead. Far after everyone has left, you crouched over his grave, sobbing without a care in the world who saw you. You just lost the most important person in your life, as if you weren’t allowed to release all your pent up frustration. Only when the sun set and sky was covered in the black of night only illuminated by the moon and stars, do you drag yourself to your car and back to your apartment. 

Today, you are left crying in his room, in the apartment you used to share.

All of his stuff remains in their original places, they were left by him before he was transferred to the hospital. His clothes inhabit every conceivable niche of his room. Books and cd cases remain in their shelves. Pictures of you two hang above on a corkboard riddled with other miscellaneous memorabilia from your high school and college days. His pranking gear is carefully tucked under his hastily made bed. A rush of nostalgia and longing hits you, and you lie on the bed, shades hastily discarded to hang on the neck of your shirt. Your vision fills with tears and the green Japanese worm pattern of his bed sheets. Your crying almost lulls you to sleep, but just as you drift off you spot a quick flash of blue from the corner of your eye. You are immediately set on high alert, and you carefully make your way to the closest where the light was spotted you. Lo behold, a bright blue light emanates from beneath a pile of clothes and you promptly dig it out. “It” being an odd light blue disk rooted to the floor of the closest. On the disk is a pattern of intersecting circles assembled to form another larger circle. The light is entrancing, and absentmindedly, you touch it. Not knowing what to expect, you're senses are overwhelmed and you are engulfed in a blindingly bright light. You collapse on the pile of his clothes.

\---------------------------------------

Noises pass over head, heard but not comprehended. Your vision is still blurry, but you attempt to stand regardless, placing a hand on the ground to steady yourself. But instead of the soft pile of clothes in his room, your hand is greeted with the cold sleek feeling of linoleum. Your arms prickle, hairs standing on edge. You feel a hostile presence in front of you. You brush it off, expecting the feeling to be a result of the creepy ass Nic Cage posters in the room soullessly staring bullets into your soul. When you look up, however, you see three blurry figures: one in a deep fuchsia purple, one in electric neon green, and another in a very familiar crimson red. You’re eyes refocus, blinded by the lack of your shades to filter out the strong lights. You see. . .black high-tops. . .black skinny jeans. . .red shirt emblazoned with a broken record. . .black shades – OH! Your eyesight is still fuzzy, but there is no way you can’t recognize the figure in front of you. Not without the obvious tell-tale articles of clothing. 

“What the actual fuck is going on?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woohoo for first fan fic <3  
> it was an idea that randomly came into my head two weeks ago in class (i know, i know . . . im such a teacher's pet ;P haha) 
> 
> well anyways as this is a first of mine, feel free to comment and correct me on any errors!
> 
> next chapter to be up by next week :3


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What mess has Dave gotten himself into now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so much for having an update by next week. the ideas just kept flowing so here's chapter 2!
> 
> ..
> 
> also i've got help to edit so hopefully there will be less typos!

You're not sure if it was you or your doppelganger who uttered those few words. Actually, it was quite possibly uttered at the same time. It sounds all alike. Your head reels, and you crouch on the ground shifting your eyes away from the colorful trio. Ugh, talk about sensory overload. It feels like car sickness. Not like you've ever had car sickness though. What kind of Strider can't appreciate the speed and exhilaration of such a glorious contraption?

"Guys, give him some space. He is obviously overwhelmed," a serene voice echoes. Oh shit, that voice is familiar. Just as you were about to place it though, a wave of nausea slams right into you making you crouch into yourself even more. Damn this for making you appear weak and pitiful in front of random people.

A warm presence shifts behind you and places a hand on your back, rubbing soothing circles. 

"Awww it's ok. Dimension travel is rough. Especially if you were unprepared."

A more masculine voice interrupts and you can hear the condescension dripping from it. "Gross Jade. Get your hands off that dude. There's no way knowing where he came from. His gross ass alien germs could be entering your body right at this moment through those pores of yours, attaching to your blood cells. In just a few moments you could be sprouting five eyes from your Martian green skin, and ten suction-cupped tentacles."

Before the girl can retort, you cough before replying, "Oh shit man. Don't need to get your panties all in a bunch worrying about my foreign trans-dimensional germs. I would be worried about her catching yours. Don't need another alien wanna-be hipster running around in skin-tight pants and douchy shades."

This elicits a hearty chuckle from the presence - Jade as you have just learned - behind you as well as a light-hearted titter from the other girl.

You can't see the other boy’s face, but you can hear the apparent deadpan as he mumbles, "Har-dee-fucking-har, very funny. How many girls did you get to swoon over you with those lines." 

"Hahahaha, I have decided I like you." Jade says as she resumes patting your back. "That was a good one! He totally got you Dave.”

She claps her hands together. “Omigosh! Can we keep him? Pleeeaaassseee?"

"I wouldn't be opposed to that notion. Be prepared to pack your bags, my dear Dave." 

Oh shit...that just confirmed your pretty solid suspicions from earlier about the guy's identity.

The other Dave releases an exasperated sigh." Omigog you guys. How dare you say that? How could you even think it? I am fucking irreplaceable. I am the original, one and only-"

"Self-proclaimed cool kid," interjects Jade.

"Dave fucking Strider," concludes the other Dave. "Seriously Jade? I'm hurt. My ego is bleeding out of the bullet wound you just inflicted on my heart. And it’s gonna stay that way until someone praises the shit out of me. So praise away ladies."

The purple-clothed girl scoffs. "As if we need to stoke your ego any more. That is strictly John's job, despite all I do to try to stop him."

Your attention refocuses at the name. You haven't heard that word since the priest at the funeral uttered those final words concluding the congregation. "John?" you whisper tepidly. It sounds too foreign on your mouth. "You know John? Don't you know he's already-" you can't bring yourself to say that last word. It'll just bring reality back and you'll be sent into another fit of despair. So instead you shift your eyes to the figure in front of you making contact with a pair of piercing purple eyes.

You've lost your train of thought, and before your brain can start sprinting to catch up to it, your mouth utters, "Sis?"

\----------------------------

The purple-clothed girl is taken aback. Her eyes widen ever so slightly at your exclamation. But her reaction is not quite as visible as the other two. Jade's hand falls slack from your back as she takes in a huge gasp, and the other Dave's jaw drops and he moves around as he scrambles for words. 

"You guys are fuckin' siblings? Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. There is no fucking way, in any timeline, am I this psychoanalyzing, condescending, mind-prying creep's brother. And I mean creep in the nicest way possible Lalonde."

"Gee thanks Dave. Expect one of my books on your bed in the near future."

"Shit, not your wizard fanfics. Please don't do this to me."

Your sister's look-alike cracks a smile as she returns her gaze to you. Your actual sister has a couple years over her, but they both sport the same black lipstick, short blonde bob adorned with a purple headband, and similar formal yet stylish purple attire. 

"I'm Rose. Rose Lalonde. Pleased to make your acquaintance Dave," she says as she extends a hand towards you. Realizing you are still on the ground, you grab her hand and pull yourself up. 

"Omigosh omigosh," bubbles Jade, "So if Rose is your sister in your world, who am I? Aunt, mom, cousin, friend...?"

She stares at you expectantly as you analyze her face. Neon green eyes surrounded by thick black lashes pierce back into your own red ones. Her pale skin is tinged with a pink blush, and long raven-black hair frames her face. As you continue to glance down, you notice a slight overbite with her teeth peeking ever so slightly out of her lips. It was too much like HIM. Choking back the lump forming in your throat, you reply, "Sorry. I don't know believe I know a Jade."

Jade looks crest-fallen but perks up immediately afterwards. "Aww…well that sucks. I'm sure though we’ll meet in your timeline at some point in time. It’s fated to happen! It's written in the stars," she announces as she makes a grand sweep of her arms to the air above her head. 

You nod your head in acknowledgement allowing yourself a small smirk, but you swiftly turn back to your other self and Rose. 

"So mind explaining this mess to me?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wahh..sorry. that was a long lull.   
> i had the amazing forethought to start this fic when junior year was starting...why did no one tell me it was gonna b THIS painful...

All four of you are seated around a dining table in the kitchen. Jade is seated to your left with Rose at the head of the table and the other Dave directly across you, all of whom are staring intently at you, waiting for your reaction. Unfortunately for them, you don’t react. Your shades have been placed in their rightful spot on the bridge of your nose, so any emotions passing through your eyes are blocked from their prying eyes. You straighten up in your chair crossing your arms over your chest, mimicking the Dave in front of you while your mind runs an Iron Man marathon, dodging and weaving Roses’ complicated-as-hell words as it tries to comprehend the information just fed to you. (Honestly, does she have a dictionary dedicated solely to unnecessarily posh vocabulary? If so, it must be immediately located, shredded to bits, and thrown into the flaming forge of Hephaestus. You would even personally distribute those ashes in handfuls across the world so that they can NEVER be recovered.)

ANYWAYS, the trio was originally a quartet when they were forced to play a game called Sburb after their world was destroyed by a freak meteor shower. They played alongside twelve trolls (who apparently have candy corn-colored horns and gray skin?), as well as four other kids, a fraction of whom are currently on the ship. So they won the game with their “powers”. At that moment you had to interrupt to ask if they casted spells like "Stupefy!" or "Wingardium leviosa!" with their magic wands. They scoffed at first at the reference, but Dave promptly waved his hands in front of him like a conductor when two turntables on red gears appeared out of nowhere. With a dexterous flick to the left with his hands, everything around you and him froze. In that interlude he whipped out a thick black marker and as you sat amusedly, he proceeded to draw on the two frozen girls’ faces before resuming time. 

Immediately, the two girls were fuming. Actually, Jade had erupted in laughter but you noticed that she was sharing a devious look with Rose who has glaring daggers into the Dave who was crouched on the floor laughing at his masterpieces. Next thing you knew, Dave was outside the ship, tethered precariously to the ledge of a window. His eyes were widened to comical proportions as he gestured probably begging for the two girls’ mercy, but all you could really see were the frantic movements of his lips so it was really up for interpretation. Rose merely stared him down impassively as a creepy smirk spread on her face. With a snap of her fingers, Dave was released and sent hurtling out into space.   
Damn, better remind yourself to NEVER try to pull a fast one on them. 

Well that covered the stupefy spell, but left another still to be fulfilled. Rose replied saying it was only in their other friend’s capabilities to perform such a feat. You were too zoned out to pry so you let the comment slip. Anyways, yada yada yada. . .the game was completed successfully and they all survived obviously, but something occurred so that numerous split timelines such as the one you came from were created. The end. Well not quite, but at that point, anything Rose uttered became complete jargon. 

“Well, Ok.” 

The three of them stare at you, probably not expecting your blasé response. (By this point in time, Jade had already teleported the other Dave back into the ship.) Dave peers at you over his sunglasses, arching his eyebrows. 

“That’s it bro? No denial? No shit-flipping? So you are a Strider, but damn, did you even comprehend what Rose just said? You just learned about the existence of magic, aliens, and alternate universes such as yours which we created by the way. We are technically your gods and holy fuck. I have no idea why you aren’t lying prostrate at our feet. Seriously? All you say is ‘Ok.’”

You would like to attribute your impassiveness to years spent as a poker-faced recluse. It would be easier, but not the truth. You just can’t muster the strength to feel any emotions. You're still hollow from the recent events in your life and all that crying in John’s room has left you emotionally drained and incapable of making any reaction.   
See, you can't even bother yourself to try to cover up that embarrassing episode with some ironic excuse like “There was dust caught in my eyes” or “Sorry, I was too busy reminiscing the tragic scene when Jack Dawson died when there was obviously enough fucking room for the two of them on the piece of driftwood.” Emphasis on the IRONIC excuse. 

It wasn’t like you had watched that train-wreck, ship-wreck (HA!), of a movie on your own volition. After losing a bet with your Bro, he literally tied you down in front of the television to watch the entire movie. Just thank Gog it wasn’t one of his freaky smuppet videos. 

You restrain a shudder as you shrug. 

Rose shifts in her seat. “While I must commend you for seeming to take it so well, what is going on? Even our Dave would have made some reaction despite how much he likes to act as if he is incapable of being taken surprise.” 

She ignores an interjection from the other Dave and shifts around ever so slightly in her seat so she is angled and focusing all of her attention on you. Her hands are folded on her crossed lap as she stares and tries to analyze you.

Oh hey look, there's a really intriguing dent in the wall. Just look at the way the wall caves into itself. Such a beautiful masterpiece. May as well place a frame right over that shit, call it art, sell it for millions of dollars, and use that money to gather babes galore and troves of alcohol. Hell, you'd be set for life.

Finally understanding that you wouldn't be divulging anything with this one-sided staring contest, Rose relaxes into the back of her chair, seeming to have given up. But if she is anything like your older sister back at home, you know this discussion is far from over. 

“So then, now that you know our story, mind telling us yours?”

Oh shit, well you didn’t expect the topic to be picked up so soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter was supposed to be much longer but since i havent updated in a while i thought: may as well just split it and post something for the sake of posting something.  
> therefore sorry for these crappy cliffhangers. 
> 
> be sure to comment any errors or tips or such. <3


End file.
